


Portrait of the Artist as a Son

by Lady Divine (fhartz91)



Series: Deliver Me 'verse [11]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22472146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/Lady%20Divine
Summary: After visiting the home where Sebastian's mother will spend the rest of her life, Kurt has some trouble sleeping ... in part because he wakes up to find his boyfriend gone.
Relationships: Kurt Hummel/Sebastian Smythe
Series: Deliver Me 'verse [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/62214
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Portrait of the Artist as a Son

Kurt couldn’t sleep.

He had fallen asleep fine, his head resting on Sebastian’s chest, listening to the even ‘thump-thump’ of his boyfriend’s heartbeat. They’d gone to bed naked – a habit ever since he started sleeping in Sebastian’s arms. Sebastian claimed he didn’t sleep well without making love to Kurt first, and Kurt had no intention of complaining. Even on the rare nights when they fought, they still ended up tangled in each other’s arms.

It was the best way in the world to end an argument.

Sebastian’s body was like a furnace - a constant source of heat against Kurt’s skin. And Kurt loved it. He loved his boyfriend’s heat. Kurt imagined it started in Sebastian’s heart and traveled via his blood throughout his whole body.

For some reason, though, the bed felt cold, the Egyptian cotton sheets like ice against his skin. Not to mention an odd, muffled rustling had started to invade Kurt’s dreams.

A rustling that sounded like someone rifling through drawers and paperwork …

… and it was coming from the living room.

He really didn’t feel like opening his eyes to find out what it was. The sound put his body on lock down – paralyzed him with fear. He wanted Sebastian, and to know that everything was okay. But since no one seemed to be offering that information (for a second time during their visit), it was up to Kurt to do the sleuthing, find out what was up.

He pried open his eyes.

He’d been lying flat on his stomach on his side of the bed. The other side, the side he was staring at, was empty. The blankets had been tucked around his body but it didn’t help. Without Sebastian, everything seemed stark, bare.

Kurt scanned the lonely room, lying in the silence, listening for any sound.

After several minutes, he heard one.

Another rustle.

Kurt’s muscles tightened so quickly, his neck ached and his head throbbed.

He didn’t want to call into the darkness for Sebastian, afraid of disturbing the source of the noise in case it wasn’t him – a ridiculous notion since the Smythe house, as far as Kurt could tell, was a fortress locked behind a metal fence. Who in the world beside Sebastian would be there?

Possibly Sebastian’s father, back with a weapon and looking for revenge? If anyone knew the ins and outs of the Smythe estate, including secret entrances and passageways, it would be him, right? Even with the security Richard had hired, he’d know if a loophole existed that would get him inside.

And he’d have reason to come back, reason to hunt down Sebastian specifically.

From the side of his eye, Kurt noticed the French doors that led to the living room open a crack. He sat up slowly, rolling tense muscles in an attempt to convince them to move, careful not to shift the bed too much lest the frame creak.

They’d discovered earlier that night that the old frame could be awfully loud. Kurt blushed remembering the close calls they had when they swore the legs would snap, the memory of what prompted the strain …

… exactly what Sebastian had done with his mouth and where.

Kurt took a moment to slip on Sebastian’s favorite green satin pants and a black t-shirt, adding a thick, white robe to guard against the cold. He looked around him for a weapon, just in case. The only thing he could find close by that fit the bill was Sebastian’s empty brandy bottle.

Kurt picked it up.

Even empty, it was heavy.

It could still knock out a filthy, homophobic motherfucker like Cornelius Smythe.

But what if he had a gun? Or what if it wasn’t him? What if he’d hired some large, muscular goon to do his dirty work for him?

Kurt’s hands gripping the bottle for dear life began to sweat, so much so that he was afraid he’d lose hold of it, drop it on his foot.

Give himself away.

He swallowed hard, squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw.

He’d already faced down one asshole with a gun. He’d do it again.

Especially to save Sebastian.

Kurt tip-toed over to the double doors, one foot in front of the other.

Louder rustling stopped him in his tracks.

He gulped hard and waited … for another rustle, for an explanation, but for Sebastian most of all.

He got neither, so he decided to continue forward.

Step after step he crept up to the doors. He put a flat palm to the wood, pushed one open a crack, and peeked out.

A man sat on the sofa, only his silhouette visible, hunched over double as if in pain. Kurt stared at him a long while until he lifted his head and showed his face.

Relieved, Kurt put the bottle down.

With the aid of the full moon streaming blue light through the windows, he could see the silhouette belonged to Sebastian. He had pulled the coffee table up to him, sandwiching his knees against the cushions. He leaned forward again, scrutinizing a spread of photographs. Off to the side, lying open, sat an album, pages so full they challenged the binding.

Both the photos and the album filled Kurt with melancholy. But when he looked at Sebastian, chin in his hands, eyes sad and staring, Kurt’s heart sank. Tracks from dried tears lined Sebastian’s cheeks, his eyes red-rimmed, lips swollen from where he bit back sobs.

Kurt knew what was going through Sebastian’s mind while he looked at those photographs.

They’d gotten the news that his mother’s mental faculties were deteriorating quickly – quicker than anyone had anticipated considering her exceptional physical health. Her doctors didn’t know how long it would be until she forgot her children entirely.

Sebastian absorbing that information, the blank expression on his face as he did his best to listen, then leaving abruptly, going outside for air, had been heartbreaking.

But Sebastian sitting in the dark, alone, crying, shattered Kurt’s heart.

He contemplated going back to bed, giving Sebastian his privacy, but something pulled Kurt into the room, to the sofa, to sit by Sebastian’s side. Without turning his head or saying a word, Sebastian took Kurt’s hand and placed it on his knee, tracing over his knuckles with his fingertips.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he said, voice breaking.

“You didn’t.” Kurt smiled, but Sebastian didn’t see, his eyes glued to the pictures on the table. Kurt turned his attention to the pictures, too - photos Sebastian had taken of Kurt’s house, of Kurt, of the two of them together. There were pictures from Sebastian’s room as well of Sebastian and Richard, Richard and his family, Sebastian with his mom. Kurt peeked past Sebastian’s body to the book open at his side. It wasn’t an album, but a scrapbook, one Sebastian was in the process of making. Sebastian had been mounting photos onto black pages and writing captions underneath in gold.

Sentiments of love, some paragraphs long.

Kurt couldn’t help the sound that escaped his throat, but that tiny noise triggered something in Sebastian’s brain, something that had been trapped all night as he flipped through photo after photo of the woman he loved … the woman he was losing. He broke down, tears streaming down his cheeks before he could stop them, shoulders crumbling, body bowing beyond his ability to control. Kurt wrapped his arms around him, cuddling him close, desperate to find a way to soothe him.

Kurt knew what it was like to lose a mother. He thought that might help him here, but he felt lost. Navigating his own grief had been difficult.

Navigating someone else’s was impossible.

He didn’t tell Sebastian it would be all right, because Kurt knew it wouldn’t. Not completely.

He didn’t try to quiet Sebastian’s tears. Kurt knew he needed to let them out.

He opened the edges of his robe and surrounded Sebastian with his warmth, let Sebastian crush his body against him, shaking with sobs, until he felt he would break apart. There they sat, wrapped around one another, until the stress of the day bled away – from Sebastian into Kurt, and from Kurt into the universe.

The sky had begun to lighten when Sebastian finally calmed down. Kurt took his face in his hands and kissed him gently, let Sebastian lay him back on the sofa and climb over him, kissing him back.

“How much more do you have to finish?” Kurt whispered when Sebastian’s lips left his mouth and started traveling down his neck.

“A---a few,” Sebastian admitted. “But I’m having a problem finding a caption for one.”

“Show me?” Kurt requested.

Sebastian righted them both and handed Kurt the book, open so he could see all the pictures, all the stories, all the ‘ _I love yous’_ written between the lines. The picture without a caption was of Sebastian. It was the picture Kurt had taken when he gave Sebastian the camera. The photo was mounted in the center of the page with nothing written underneath.

“Ah.” Kurt sighed at the handsome face smiling back at him. “Portrait of the artist.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said. “That’s about it, though.”

“What do you mean?” Kurt asked, careful fingers hovering above, tracing around the mouth and eyes. All this time together and one look, just this slight smile, could take Kurt’s breath away.

“What else am I?” Sebastian huffed. “Everything I am, everything I’ve done, I accomplished because of money. I don’t really have anything that’s my own. I’m the product of privilege. That’s all. Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I _am_ worthless.”

Kurt glared at Sebastian, eyes wide. “You know, if I didn’t love you so much, I would slap you. In fact, I just might.”

Sebastian’s eyes lit up, their playful spark returning. Kurt rolled his.

“Here.” Kurt reached past Sebastian for the gold Sharpie he’d been writing with. “I don’t ever want to hear you tell me that you’re _worthless_ ,” Kurt muttered as he wrote, “because both you and I know that isn’t true. I won’t hear it …” Sebastian tried to peek, but Kurt wouldn’t let him. Not long after, Kurt handed the book back. “You’re worth everything to me.”

Sebastian looked at the words written neatly beneath the photo, read them to himself.

_Sebastian Smythe_

_Photographer_

_Adventurer_

_Harvard student_

_Defender of the innocent_

_Willing to risk his life for those he loves_

_Loyal partner_

_Beloved son_

Sebastian looked at Kurt with wet eyes and smiled.

Kurt winked. “In no particular order.”


End file.
